The Dread Hammer

by Linda Nagata

  Smoke slipped the sword back into its scabbard. “My name is Dismay.”

  He set to walking again, and after a few steps he heard the tramp of the horse behind him. In a few more steps, Ekemion rode past. Smoke glanced up to meet Ekemion’s troubled gaze . . . but truly, there was nothing more to say.

  The Fortress of Samerhen

  Takis went down to the courtyard with her sister Tayval when word came that the Trenchant was returning. They waited on the steps of Bidden Hall, looking out past the fortress gates that had once served to hold off armies, but that Takis had never seen closed. The city of Samerhen spread out in the valley beyond, bright in the afternoon. On the road, a group of soldiers approached, riding in no particular order, so it took Takis a few seconds to pick out her father in their midst. “Do you see Smoke?” she asked her sister, but Tayval shook her head.

  In through the gate the first of the soldiers came, and then Dehan. Only then did Takis see the woman riding behind him. She was a pretty thing, very young, with dark tangled hair and dark eyes, dressed in blue silk dusty from the road. She rode with her left arm around Dehan’s waist for balance. With her right she supported a baby in a sling. Takis suffered a sudden, dire fear. “Is Smoke dead?” she whispered, turning again to look at her sister. “Surely he wouldn’t have given this woman up unless . . .”

  Again Tayval shook her head.

  When Dehan rode up to the foot of the stairway, the sisters descended to meet him.

  The Trenchant was not a young man, but he was strong and hale still. He swung his leg over the horse’s neck and dropped nimbly to the ground. Then he turned to help the girl down. She looked exhausted and frightened. When her feet touched the ground she nearly lost her balance, so that Dehan had to steady her.

  “Greetings, my father,” Takis said, with all the warmth she could forge.

  Dehan turned, acknowledging her with a slight bow and a kiss on the cheek. Next he went to Tayval and kissed her too. “Success,” he whispered to her. Tayval of course made no answer. She never did.

  “My father,” Takis said, with a worried glance at the girl. “You haven’t brought my brother home?”

  “He’s coming. Slower than the rest of us.” Dehan’s gaze was admiring, covetous, as it lingered on the girl. Her baby stirred, its tiny fists waving. She looked relieved by the distraction, and spoke softly to the child. Dehan smiled. “Takis, this is Ketty. I want you to care for her, and teach her the ways of our household.”

  “Greetings, Ketty,” Takis said. “I welcome you to Bidden Hall.”

  Takis felt herself on dangerous ground. Surely this was Smoke’s woman? But then, what was the meaning behind her father’s covetous glance? She weighed her words carefully and concluded that only polite ignorance would do. “Whose child is this?”

  Ketty looked up, fixing Dehan with a hostile gaze from behind a veil of dirty hair.

  “Britta is mine,” Dehan said with a half-smile—and why not? They both knew it was a pretense, but it was a pretense that Dehan wished to play. “I shared a few nights with Ketty almost a year gone by now. She was in trouble with her family for it so she ran away.”

  “And Smoke found her?”

  “My demon son is most resourceful.”

  Takis risked a glance past the gates, praying to see Smoke coming, but the road was empty. She turned to Ketty, and with a forced smile she held out her hand. “Come, Ketty. A hot bath and a warm supper will help you feel better.”

  Ketty brushed her hair out of her face. Takis was surprised to see her face was now composed, her anger hidden. “I thank you for your kindness.” She turned to Dehan, speaking with cool neutrality. “Would you hand me down my satchel?”

  “Oh yes, your precious books.” Dehan took a bag from the horse, handing it to Takis to carry.

  Ketty did not look at Dehan again, but went with Takis up the stairs.

  Tayval followed closely behind them.

  Ketty stood at the center of a room larger than her father’s house, with Britta in her arms and her skirt heavy with dust. She felt wrapped up in confusion and bitter anger. Smoke had betrayed her! Abandoned her! Given her up to his father without a word of protest. She was furious with the Trenchant too, though she knew that was absurd. Who was she to be angry with such a great man? She was no one. A girl without family, a runaway from the Binthy shepherd tribe. She knew she ought to be grateful he hadn’t simply taken Smoke away, leaving her lost and alone in the forest. He’d even tried hard to be kind to her (if kidnapping was ever kind).

  But why? Nothing made sense! Dehan had claimed her. He’d told his men, his daughters, his people—everyone!—that Britta was his child—warning her that if she spoke otherwise he’d take Britta away. And he’d said he would marry her. If she came to his bed, if she conceived another child, he would make her his wife.

  “Why?” she’d pleaded. “Why me? I am Smoke’s wife!”

  “I have warned you not to speak of him again.”

  He was the Trenchant, guardian of the Puzzle Lands. To be his wife meant that she would live in a room like this all her life, enjoying warm baths and clean sheets and fine meals, and maybe even servants. And other things? Who knew? Not Ketty. She was a Binthy shepherd girl.

  And still she felt about the Trenchant as she had about the widower—it was not his bed she wanted to warm!

  “Where is Smoke?” she whispered, daring to speak his name for the first time in days, now that the Trenchant was nowhere about.

  The twins, Takis and Tayval, had accompanied her to this room. Tayval was standing silent at the window, looking out on the green pasture beyond the fortress wall while Takis instructed the servants. But at Ketty’s question, both sisters looked around in alarm. “Ketty, you must be very cautious,” Takis said.

  “But it’s not true what he—”

  “Hush! He is the Trenchant. He’s not an ordinary man.”

  “He can hear me? Here?”

  Takis shrugged. Then she glanced at the servants. When she looked back at Ketty, a false smile was on her face. “May I hold the baby for you, while you go to bathe?”

  Smoke came with the dark of the evening. Two soldiers were guarding the fortress gate. He dared them with his gaze to raise a challenge, but they’d been forewarned. One acknowledged him with a nod as he limped past.

  The courtyard was empty, but from the barracks he heard a merry guitar playing, and the sound of men’s laughter. He hesitated, wondering where he was expected to go. He hadn’t lived in Samerhen since his father sent him away to training when he was ten, but he knew every hallway, every room of Bidden Hall. He knew the Trenchant would likely be in the library at this hour and for a few seconds it pleased him to imagine his sword slitting his father’s throat and the Trenchant’s blood spewing across the shelves of books and flooding over the carpets. But it was only another sweet daydream.

  The torches had not yet been lit, and the shadows were thick, but when the threads shifted Smoke knew someone had come to the threshold of the hall. “Smoke?” Ekemion called to him. Then he corrected himself, “Dismay?”

  Smoke said nothing, but Ekemion was accustomed to that in his new task of conveying Dehan’s wishes. “There’s a room ready for you upstairs. You’re to bathe and dress, and then report to the dining hall to greet your sisters.”

  Smoke waited in silence, suspecting this was not all.

  “The Trenchant forbids you to enter the barracks or to socialize with any soldier.”

  Smoke snorted his contempt, but he still said nothing as Ekemion led him up the stairs to his room.

  By the time dinner came Ketty was clean, her black hair washed and brushed, and her road-stained blue dress exchanged for a clean frock of wine-red silk. Britta was asleep after nursing, but Ketty refused to leave her in the care of a servant as Takis suggested, so they took the child with them to the dining hall. Tayval met them on the way.

  The dining hall had a platform at one end, with the high table where the Bidde
n sat. Facing it were four other tables at right angles to the high table, for staff and visiting officers. Word had gone around of the day’s events, and most of the seats were taken. Heads turned as Ketty came in and an admiring murmur swept through the room.

  Dehan was already at the high table. He stood up to greet them, directing Ketty to a seat beside him. Takis sat on her other side, and Tayval next to her. An empty seat remained at the table’s end.

  Dinner was served, first to the low tables, then to the high. The last plate was laid down at the empty seat next to Tayval, when Smoke walked in. He entered at the far end of the hall, and as people looked up and caught sight of him, silence washed over the assembly. Takis started to rise, to run to greet him, but Tayval laid a hand on hers and shook her head.

  Smoke strode between the tables, looking at no one. He was freshly bathed, his honey-gold hair neatly tied behind his neck. He wore a white tunic and gray pants: subdued colors that suited neither his beauty nor his mood. Takis shuddered, feeling his sullen fury vibrate through the threads.

  He walked up to the high table. Only when he reached it did he raise his gaze, first to the Trenchant with a glare so full of hate that Takis readied herself to intervene. She knew Smoke well. He was not a man given to restraint. Yet he only executed a perfect bow. Then he turned to her. “Greetings, my sister,” he said in a voice raspy with the rage he held in check.

  “Greetings,” she answered as he bowed to her.

  He repeated the ritual for Tayval who only nodded, saying nothing as ever.

  Smoke did not speak to Ketty. He didn’t even look at her. Takis risked a glance at the girl. She was staring at Smoke, her eyes wide, the expression on her face somewhere between fury and desperation. Then the Trenchant said, “Take the last seat and join your family in our meal.”

  To the astonishment of Takis, Smoke did it. He stepped up onto the platform, taking the empty seat beside Tayval, who turned to watch him as he picked up a fork. He met her gaze. There was the glint of a question in his eyes, but neither spoke, and after a moment Smoke turned to his plate, and Tayval looked away.

  Takis heard the whisper of a thought stirring in the back of her mind—it was her sister’s familiar voice: A spell binds him. In a voice only Takis could hear, Tayval went on to describe the shape of the spell and its dire effect, and despite her horror, Takis felt an admiration for her father’s ruthlessness.

  They had been at dinner only a few minutes when Britta woke and started to coo. The girl who was serving at the high table stopped to admire her. “Oh, ma’am, she’s so sweet. So pretty.”

  Ketty forced a smile. Takis could tell she was blinking back tears. Maybe Dehan noticed it too. “Ketty, let me hold Britta while you eat.”

  At first Ketty hesitated, but then she handed the baby to Dehan. He settled Britta against his chest and patted her back. Then he looked at Takis with a pleased smile. “Britta is such a good baby. Rarely cries. She reminds me of you and Tayval.”

  At the far end of the table, Smoke stood up. Without a word he stepped down from the platform, and with gaze downcast he crossed in front of the high table and left by the near door.

  Ketty was so startled she rose from her seat, but at a stern look from Dehan she sat down again. “Eat something,” he encouraged her.

  Takis pushed her chair back and stood up, leaving her plate untouched. “Pardon me, my father. There’s business I must see to.” Ignoring Dehan’s sour look, she followed Smoke out the door.

  His trail was easy to follow. His fury had left the threads humming so that she knew he had gone upstairs to the room Dehan had assigned him. When Smoke was little, and Takis and Tayval had played at being his mothers, he’d lived in their apartment and slept in their bed. Through those early years, the Trenchant had never acknowledged he had a son. Then Smoke turned ten and the Trenchant came to collect him, taking him to Far Negarum, where Smoke began his training as a Koráyos warrior.

  Takis started up the stairs, but she’d gone only two steps when a servant called to her. “Takis, a deputation has arrived from Chieftain Rennish. They say the nature of their mission is most urgent.” The servant hurried closer, adding in a whisper, “And for you alone.”

  Takis looked in frustration up the stairs, then back again at the servant. “What is it about?”

  “That’s all I know, ma’am.”

  She sighed. Rennish was neither foolish nor frivolous. If her deputation claimed their mission was urgent, then it was. “Where are they?”

  “At the stable.”

  She strode out into the night, hoping it was nothing so urgent that she would need to leave for the borderlands that night.

  The stable door stood open, agleam with lantern light. Nearly a dozen soldiers loitered inside, all of them husky men, front line fighters. Most tended their horses, but three stood guard over a man whose wrists were shackled to a chain around his waist. His black hair and beard were both long and unkempt, and his face had a thin, hollow look, but he stood with a straight back, his gaze fixed on her from the moment she walked in the stable door.

  It took her longer to recognize him. When she did such a shock ran through her that she had to put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. “It can’t be,” she whispered.

  One of Rennish’s officers approached her; handed her a folded paper. She took it blindly, her gaze still fixed on Nedgalvin. Then a horse snorted and she remembered herself. She unfolded the paper and found it to be a letter from Rennish. Holding it under a lantern, she read it, then folded it again and slipped it into a pocket.

  This is not by chance.

  For a moment she thought Tayval had spoken, but the thought was her own. She looked at the officer who had given her the letter. “Unchain him.”

  The officer reacted with shock. “Ma’am, he’s dangerous. Violent—”

  Takis walked up to Nedgalvin and asked him, “Are you?”

  He nodded, his eyes agleam with anticipation. “Yes.”

  She hesitated, taking the measure of his mood in the threads that defined him. Then she said, “Unchain him. If he can’t conduct himself as a civilized man, kill him.”

  This elicited several smiles of anticipation, but when the chains fell to the ground, Nedgalvin disappointed his escort. He made no move; only continued to watch her with perfect poise.

  Takis spoke again to the officer. “Chieftain Rennish has instructed you on the discretion this mission requires.”

  “Yes, ma’am. All the men are aware of it.”

  “That discretion will continue indefinitely.”

  “We understand, ma’am.”

  “I thank you for your service.”

  “And you, ma’am.”

  She nodded. Then she looked again at Nedgalvin. “Will you come with me?”

  His composure slipped for just a moment as he cast a wary gaze at the men around him. Then, gathering his courage, he stepped over his fallen chains and walked with her to the door.

  She spoke very softly as they crossed the courtyard together. “After reading Rennish’s letter, I’m not sure you value your life. If you want to end it, just let my father discover you. No Lutawan man has set foot in Samerhen since the days of Koráy. If he finds you, he will kill you. There will be nothing I can do to protect you.”

  “You tried to kill me.”

  “You betrayed my trust.”

  He nodded. “I’ve had time to think on that.”

  “And?”

  “I’m a short-sighted fool.”

  Bypassing the main doors to the hall, Takis took Nedgalvin in by the garden gate. “I have many lovers,” she told him softly. “But they generally don’t look as ill-used as you. It’s best if no one sees you.” Then she laughed at herself. “I haven’t snuck a man up the backstairs since I was fifteen!”

  “Don’t smile at me as if I’m your pretty whore.”

  Her smile widened. “You’re not pretty,” she assured him. And still there was something electric about him
that she could not explain.

  ~

  The Dread Hammer rarely offers mercy and is content to let us learn from our own foolishness. I know this, and still sometimes I pray that the hammer blow will be softened and some way will be found to save us from ourselves.

  Dismay

  Smoke lay in the darkness of his room. He had not looked at Ketty—not once, during the evening meal—but he had felt her presence in the threads, her burning anger. She was treacherous to blame him! She was foolish! She didn’t understand the penalty he faced. But then it was the Trenchant’s plan to confuse her and turn her against him.

  Even now, when he dared to touch the threads, the low, cold whine of her anger reached him. It raked at him. He wanted to scream at her that she was wrong. It was not his fault. How horrible it was not to be heard!

  The room door clicked opened. He was so startled he grabbed his sword, which lay in its scabbard beside him. In an instant he was on his feet, blade drawn—only to discover it was Tayval who had come in. In her hand she carried a candlestick with a single burning taper. Beneath her silk nightgown her body looked sweet and slender; her black hair was loose around her shoulders. She closed the door behind her, then turned to give him an admonishing look.

  His hands shook as he returned the sword to its scabbard. It was all he could do to shackle his rage. The threads howled with its tension. The room grew hot.

  He lay down again, holding the sword against his chest, his heart pounding so hard it must surely soon break free.

  Tayval blew out the candle and lay down beside him. Her body felt cool and soothing where it touched him. After a while he whispered to her, “I don’t want to love her anymore.”

  Tayval caught his hand and squeezed it in the dark.